


Rare and Unusual: Hanzo Shimada

by south-dragon-hanzo (Kitanrum)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Mentions of Sex, NaNoWriMo 2017, mentions of drug use, writing prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-06 21:24:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 3,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12826401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitanrum/pseuds/south-dragon-hanzo
Summary: A collection of stories about Hanzo Shimada based off of an Unusual and Rare Words writing prompt posted by promptaroonie.tumblr.com!





	1. Uncanny

**Author's Note:**

> If you're curious, here is the link to the [writing prompt list](http://promptaroonie.tumblr.com/post/165427531556/write-o-ween-prompts-unusual-and-rare-words)!
> 
> If you would like to support me further, I'm doing [writing commissions](https://www.patreon.com/southdragonhanzo) through Patreon! Thank you for the support!!!

un·can·ny

/ˌənˈkanē/

_adjective_

 

> strange or mysterious, especially in an unsettling way

* * *

   
Hanzo had been told at an early age that they were not meant to be seen, not by the unworthy unless they were to be consumed. They were seen as strange, an unknown in the world of the known. They were dragons. To the unprepared, the sight was terrifying and unearthly.

  
The exchange made centuries ago between the first bearer of the Shimada name and the celestial beings was mutually beneficial: the dragons required a mortal anchor and the humans required power. The power and the anchor each had their limitations, as such a balance was required and the humans who abused the power were consumed while the dragons that interfered in the mortal realm were banished. Lore painted them to be monstrous with the force to control the seas, the skies, and the earth, appetites sated only by human sacrifice, at sizes that ranged from horse-like to gargantuan. Stories told him they were uncanny with all-seeing eyes that never blinked, wills that eclipsed ones own, and tempers as fickle as a flame on a windy day. Perhaps to the untrained they were.

  
The memory was faint now, but it was difficult to forget the first time he saw the pale, orange glow of eyes that belonged to his father's dragon. He was just a toddler, the little Master. His father would later tell him the dragon had decided to present itself to test Hanzo; if the child pisses itself it will not be worthy to take on your mantel Sojiro, he recounted. Hanzo merely waddled forward, fueled by what could only be described as curiosity, towards the set of eyes barely present in the mortal world. Undeterred, the little Master had approached and stared with wonder until the being fully presented itself. Even with a hiss maw, opened wide to show off preternaturally sharp teeth, Hanzo the child remained unmoved. It seemed that the dragon was more unsettled than the child.

  
If he had had friends who lived in the same quasi-paranormal world, it may have been one of the embarrassing stories his parents shared out. Instead it was a fond memory of a simpler time. Even now with the twin spirits anchored to him, imposing and unsettling solely by appearance, he felt comfort in the memory.


	2. Chimerical

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're curious, here is the link to the [writing prompt list](http://promptaroonie.tumblr.com/post/165427531556/write-o-ween-prompts-unusual-and-rare-words)!
> 
> If you would like to support me further, I'm doing [writing commissions](https://www.patreon.com/southdragonhanzo) through Patreon! Thank you for the support!!!

 chi·me·ri·cal

/ kī-ˈmer-i-kəl/

adjective

> merely imaginary; fanciful

* * *

 

The daydreaming may have started in Numbani, perhaps re-surged if anything. Taking advantage of his unreadable gaze, Hanzo took to thinking of any place that was not where he currently was. As a _bow-for-hire_ , the former leader of the Shimada-gumi turned mercenary had dealt with a few missions such as this one: a bureaucrat with a lengthy trail of bodies following their rise to success had upset the wrong person and now sought protection. This time it was a woman, a Spaniard, working for an arms maker in Europe. Whispers of an omnic resistance made her an exceptionally busy woman: chartered to protect her through a global tour of new manufacturing sites and business deals, Hanzo knew or cared to know little else. The job was lucrative and allowed for idle time, something he had little time for when roaming between contracts.But Numbani was dreadful. Too open, too visible, too _Utopian_. His opinion of omnics was not the highest making for awkward interactions during the visit.

He noticed the first flight of fancy during the initial meeting with a possible vendor. Cursory observations and scans showed the room to be unmonitored save for the omnic assistant the vendor brought with him. Bored and unimpressed with the bureaucrat's business prowess, Hanzo began to think of the petals raining down on Hanamura during a windy day. A long look out of the annoyingly clear window of the meeting room noted the flat green colors of the peaceful city. Only the people and omnics were colorful: who much cared for them? The meeting ended shortly thereafter, at least for the mercenary.

  
Day three of their stay in Numbani found the mercenary and his charge at a soiree where he was to act as a guest. It would not be the first time or last time during their two month contract that he would fulfill a role. Alcohol and his date's, as she so lovingly called herself, propensity to talk about nothing to everyone allowed another chimerical excursion. This time it was in Paris. A few contracts ago he had spent a week in the city of lights while tracking down a bounty. He re-imagined the small cafe from which he had tracked his target. They served a tea flavored of peaches alongside a tray of tarts, eclairs, and small cakes covered in frosting or sugars. Each taste was sweeter than the last, even more so after he had confirmed his target's schedule earlier than anticipated.

  
The bite of the mille-feuille was merely imaginary, however. His attention was pulled back to the hotel ballroom where his charge now yanked him across to another set of equally flat-characters the legal world of arms trade had to offer. The momentary jostling had killed the dream of Paris for now. Perhaps after a few droning minutes of conversation after introductions he could return to it.


	3. Susurrus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're curious, here is the link to the [writing prompt list](http://promptaroonie.tumblr.com/post/165427531556/write-o-ween-prompts-unusual-and-rare-words)!
> 
> If you would like to support me further, I'm doing [writing commissions](https://www.patreon.com/southdragonhanzo) through Patreon! Thank you for the support!!!
> 
> \---
> 
> In my headcanon, Hanzo's dragons are named Kaze and Kaminari.
> 
> Kaze is a male and is relaxed. He has larger horns than his sister and a shorter mane. He is the wind.
> 
> Kaminari is a female and loves attention. She has the longer mane and whiskers. She is the thunder.

su·sur·rus

/so͝oˈsərəs/

noun

> a whispering or rustling sound

* * *

 

Nights were not often still. The distant sounds of vehicles often permeated through the courtyard of Hanamura. The susurrus of trees speaking to each other when the wind blew through the branches and leaves. Genji no doubt partied at one, maybe even several if his companions for the evening were deemed exciting, of the establishments in the surrounding city that Hanamura overlooked, the faint bass thrumming upwards towards the sky. To Hanzo it was the quiet voice of the night, whispering its thoughts.

  
Raven locks, silky and loose, cascaded to the side when Hanzo tilted his head. He stared out at the flickering lights of the world below him. Perched atop a flat section of the slanted roof that housed the ancient bell, his sketchbook lay opened with a charcoal drawing of the city below. 

_You are troubled._

The wind spoke first, hushed thoughts swirling forth.

_Bestill your nerves. You uphold your honor well. This will be no different._

The rolling thunder was soft, distant almost. It was soothing.

Hanzo smiled. The two dragons were doting despite their ethereal natures. Pale hands reached once more for the sketchbook, dusted grey and black where skin smudged the charchol to the paper.  
"Nervous. The word you seek is nervous. This is not a battle. Father has only entrusted me with my own squadron... I aim to show him I am capable to lead the clan one day. I am sure there will be no problem. It doesn't mean I cannot feel nervous."

_Should we frighten the men?_

_None have their own dragon. Two would truly make them fearful._

His eyes rolled, the murmured musings of eternal beings over his earthly matters were nearly ridiculous. "I will be fine. My father reigns with respect he has earned. I will do the same."

_A small display then?_

_And be seen as weak? They will fear us._

The wind breathed while the thunder grumbled, their argument continuing in the recesses of his mind. "It seems the two of you are nervous."

_...no_

_No!_


	4. Aubade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're curious, here is the link to the [writing prompt list](http://promptaroonie.tumblr.com/post/165427531556/write-o-ween-prompts-unusual-and-rare-words)!
> 
> If you would like to support me further, I'm doing [writing commissions](https://www.patreon.com/southdragonhanzo) through Patreon! Thank you for the support!!!
> 
> \---
> 
> In my headcanon, Hanzo abuses drugs and alcohol the first few years after 'killing' Genji and abandoning the clan, even as he works as a mercenary until he finds he does not need them to cope any longer.

au·bade

/ō-ˈbäd/

noun

 

> a song or poem greeting the dawn

* * *

To fully rest was to mark himself for death. One year on the run and he could not remember which was the last time he truly slept at ease. He would only allow himself a few moments of rest once the high of the cocaine wore off: sleep as dangerous as it was, the drug had allowed him stay awake longer. Even moreso with the woman pressed to his side. She was a pretty thing, a young woman in her twenties like him with light-brown hair that currently obscured part of her face. _Nanami_.

  
This was not the first time he had laid idly in a bed with her. He had met her at a back-alley club in Kyoto. Nanami had taken to him quickly after he had arrived. It was truly the first time since he had left Hanamura that another human treated him as such. Hanzo did not need to know her life-story to understand she had her own pain that lead her to the club and the same drug. Need, the thrumming of the bass from the club speakers, and the high found them both tangled in bed after that initial meeting. She would get to know him just as Ryuu because he refused to give himself a name. She had only the clan brand on his shoulder and the tattoo on his arm to identify him. Hanzo was renamed Ryuu by the saccharine woman.

She would be the one to leave first in the morning, a soft aubade on her lips when the first rays of the sun filtered into the hotel room. Each meeting would repeat in the same manner and this evening was no different. The disgraced leader of the Shimada-gumi stared at the ceiling of the dark room listening to the soft breathing of his partner. Occasionally, Hanzo's eyes went to the holo-clock on the nightstand beside him. He guessed he had two more hours of the pleasant closeness, this in stark contrast to the frantic throes of pleasure that left the room in a less than desirable state. But like the other nights, Nanami would collapse onto his chest and doze off, sated and smiling, while he remained awake with his fingers toying with curled locks of hair.

  
Her scent was sweet, a hint of citrus and peaches mixed into the shampoo she used. The sweat, musk of sex, or occasional drip of blood from snorting the cocaine could never hide the smell for long. A few times he dozed off with his nose pressed to the crown of her head. Force of habit woke him up soon after, but it was pleasant.

  
Hanzo must have done so again, perhaps for a longer period of time. Through the sheer curtains he saw the dark sky had brightened. It would be another ten or fifteen minutes before the sunlight would wake his partner. The branded arm was wrapped around her midsection, fingers just shy of touching her breasts. He toyed with the idea of keeping her longer, his appetite only partially sated the night before. Temporary or not, Nanami's company was his favored among the several men and women he had chosen to sleep with to drown out his pain.

Lost in thought, he was brought back by the soft song rising at his side. Nanami had awoken, propping herself up on his chest, her index finger circling the dragon's tail on his pectoral. She cooed her song, calling him her dragon, furious and brooding, thanking him for not devouring her soul but satisfying it instead. As she began to rise, Hanzo reached for her hand. Both knew their lives demanded different people to fulfill life-long pleasures but until then they would meet when he appeared and forget their sorrowful lives. And so her song did not stop, but her body returned, legs straddling his hips until the sun rose up higher and the dragon was sated.


	5. Ephemeral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're curious, here is the link to the [writing prompt list](http://promptaroonie.tumblr.com/post/165427531556/write-o-ween-prompts-unusual-and-rare-words)!
> 
> If you would like to support me further, I'm doing [writing commissions](https://www.patreon.com/southdragonhanzo) through Patreon! Thank you for the support!!!
> 
> \---
> 
> My take on what happened after the Dragons Short!

e·phem·er·al

/əˈfem(ə)rəl/

adjective

> lasting for a very short time.

* * *

 

Storm Bow clattered to the ground alongside his quiver. Leaning against the entry wall of his current hide out, tired fingers searched for the latch on the metal knee plating of his leg armor. Traveling had become difficult; while his soul remained intact, the effects of Kaze and Kaminari flying through him took their toll on his body. The latch clicked and the armor unhinged with a mechanical whirr until the boot could be removed. He repeated the process until his other leg was freed. Hanzo did not care to arrange the entryway, nor did he care to pick-up Storm Bow again.

  
Braced against the wall, the former Shimada-gumi leader trudged to the open futon of the studio he stayed in. With an uncomfortable grunt the man landed on the ground, his knees finally giving without the added support of the metal frame around them. The winds fussed in his mind and unrest made the thunder roll.

  
_He lives._

  
The two spoke in unison, the thought amplified over his own will. So weakened he could do little else but submit to what they wanted. But what they said was true enough. Genji lived. Fingers stopped fumbling with the obi tied at his waist while brown eyes stared blankly at the roof. The green dragon flashed in his mind, the ephemeral glimpse of the eyes under the green, lit visor.

  
While the dragons coalesced above him, circling with worry and excitement, Hanzo truly saw through them for once. Due to the excess drain of his force or the revelation, his mind reeled on a different plane. Watching the thin blue wisps rise around the glimmering serpents, images of the night he felled his younger brother replayed before his eyes.

  
**The blood. The blade. The life-less eyes.**

  
But a ghost resurged, ten years later. The eyes were not life-less. The man was different. Was he even a man?  
Sleep took him before long, the comforting glow and crackle of the lighting that came with Kaze and Kaminari's coiling and debating aiding the unstoppable force. He would not dream. Instead, memories played in brevity. Happy ones. Painful ones. New and old. Bloody. His sleep would only come to an end when the pale, scarred skin around equally brown eyes startled him awake.

  
The clock read 4:30 AM. The dragons curled to their respective shoulder, unmoved by their vessel's sudden awakening. Every muscle hurt, the slightest twitch regrettable and exhausting. Only the words filled his mind now.

  
_Perhaps I am a fool to think that there is still hope for you, but I do._

  
_Think on that, brother._


	6. Sempiternal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're curious, here is the link to the [writing prompt list](http://promptaroonie.tumblr.com/post/165427531556/write-o-ween-prompts-unusual-and-rare-words)!
> 
> If you would like to support me further, I'm doing [writing commissions](https://www.patreon.com/southdragonhanzo) through Patreon! Thank you for the support!!!
> 
> \---
> 
> Sorry for the absence!! Needed some time to get my self back together!

 sem·pi·ter·nal

/ˌsempəˈtərnl/

adjective

> eternal and unchanging; everlasting.

 

* * *

Every time the rush lifted his soul, it felt like the first time. Unlike the first time, he did not collapse. Just like the first time, he was out of breath. Unlike the first time, he could run and continue fighting as the twirling, ethereal, blue dragons consumed the unworthy in their path. Just like the first time, he felt the swell of power of the sated dragons returning. The fight could continue, the sound of the blood pumping in his ears almost drowning out the shocked sounds of his new comrades in arms.  
By the time the fight was over, he would have a bloody nose, several scratches to his lower abdomen, and plenty of dirt and ash smearing any exposed part of his body. The grit of dirt on the crook of his neck was uninteresting. The two voices rose in his mind, their wills stronger and prepared for more. The job of the vessel was to satiate the wills and keep the spirits from becoming unsettled. There was no mention of reveling in the thrill of such power, of sempiternal beings sharing their knowledge, and thoughts, and sight.

  
Habit had him respond to the Swedish engineer with a grunt, only catching a snippet of his comment about the sheer size of the dragons. Nothing was important at the moment. The screams of agony of the unworthy as they disappeared into the twin maws, both connected and disconnected from his mind and this realm, added to the rush. Again, habit had him shake his head when the Swiss doctor offered a blanket once the transport arrived. His body was burning, the heat of the riled beings existing within him and around him making an additional cover unnecessary even in the Russian winter weather.

  
The high, unlike the dragons, was temporary. Unlike the dragons, he would grow tired. The inked dragon on his skin would stop glimmering with faint pulses of light. Suddenly the silence was deafening. Often, he did not immediately remember the information the dragons shared. It was a cruel game they played, knowing that their vessel could only handle information in bursts but hide what he wanted to know until moments like this. Eventually, through sheer willpower or through his own recollection he would remember what they had told him.

  
Again, the Swiss doctor would ask him questions related to his injuries and then to the dragons: something with comparing the notes she had on his brother. He would slink of to bed after a shower. The two beings would rumble, choosing to become corporeal to curl in the mattress with their tired host. The nuzzling dragons would coo, their gentle wills lulling calmness over Hanzo's turbulent mind until the morning.


	7. Euphonious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're curious, here is the link to the [writing prompt list](http://promptaroonie.tumblr.com/post/165427531556/write-o-ween-prompts-unusual-and-rare-words)!
> 
> If you would like to support me further, I'm doing [writing commissions](https://www.patreon.com/southdragonhanzo) through Patreon! Thank you for the support!!!

eu·pho·ni·ous

/yo͞oˈfōnēəs/

adjective

> (of sound, especially speech) pleasing to the ear.

* * *

The first memory he had of the singing was a sweet lullaby about a loving tree spirit. He may have been four, possibly five. His mother's fingers were threading through his hair. Genji was curled up on her other side, doing the same to his hair. Now, he would describe it as heavenly. Even when she was singing a happy song at a festival or a holiday, the sound always remained the same. Calming, pleasing.

 

He clung to the memory, willing the voice to the front of his mind when he was stressed or needed rest and the dragons did not offer their help. In an instant, he could breathe again and the world made sense.

  
He was traveling through Ilios, en route to a client's destination when he stopped at a club to numb his mind. The song was fading in his mind. Maybe it was the cocaine, or the sleepless nights, or the bloodshed. Perhaps it was none of these things. But the song was fading. There was a new song now. The voice was euphonious, deep, and thick as caramel. The man was singing in a language he could not identify. He never looked at the singer, his back having been to the stage since he had arrived and until the performance was over.

  
The melody stuck to his mind, humming it out of the bar, humming it when he decided to sleep rather than stay up for the tenth night in a row. It cradled his rattled brain, nestled between the warm notes of hot chocolate and syrup slugging him off to bed. It would be gone too.

  
The alcohol helped now when he was troubled, faint notes from both songs mixing where he could remember either song. But the newest addition would join them soon enough; smooth as honey, thickly sweet, bearing the light of the sun on the shadows of his brain in the form of a Southern man with a hat named Sheila, a band of dogs, and a soul brighter than he had ever felt.


	8. Billet-doux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're curious, here is the link to the [writing prompt list](http://promptaroonie.tumblr.com/post/165427531556/write-o-ween-prompts-unusual-and-rare-words)!
> 
> If you would like to support me further, I'm doing [writing commissions](https://www.patreon.com/southdragonhanzo) through Patreon! Thank you for the support!!!

bil·let-doux

/ˌbilāˈdo͞o/

noun

> a love letter

* * *

Poetry was beautiful: words carefully arranged to convey a meaning that the reader or listener could take at face value or analyze, rhythmical sometimes and spoken truths otherwise. If the students were idiots, they would make fun of Hanzo for the bleeding heart with which he wrote his poems. Often a bento box would be offered in forgiveness: he was always confused but the girls would nod approving.

  
A billet-doux: he had called it as such when he handed to Midori. They had only just started dating openly. The arrangement of their marriage had no bearing on the act. The two teens had come to realize their feelings were true and unforced. She would be ecstatic. Sure, she had seen and helped him writing any of his works for class, helped him choose the best for performances at the talent shows and played the musical arrangements that matched the timing of his words, but this was the first such poem that was hers and not the last.

  
Even after she left his heart crumpled at his feet, even as the life left his brother's eyes, even as the world he knew dissipated into a darkness of shame and regret, the poems could not stop: they would not stop. No one could see them now: they were not meant for anyone. No one would praise them now: they were not joyful and bright anymore.

  
Each year he prayed at Shimada Castle, he wrote a message to his brother in the form of a poem and offered its ashes to his spirit. As he watched the cyborg disappear that night, the offering would lay half-written and unfinished. The writing changed again: he noticed only when Kaminari mentioned it.

  
Today, he sat considering a new word to describe a shining sun when the jingling of spurs suddenly snapped his attention out of the ether of words. His heart pounded in his chest, the book held tightly to his side. His love letter was unfinished.   
Their transport was ready.


	9. Pluviophile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're curious, here is the link to the [writing prompt list](http://promptaroonie.tumblr.com/post/165427531556/write-o-ween-prompts-unusual-and-rare-words)!
> 
> If you would like to support me further, I'm doing [writing commissions](https://www.patreon.com/southdragonhanzo) through Patreon! Thank you for the support!!!

plu·vi·o·phile

/plüvēˈäfīl /

noun

> any organism that thrives in conditions of heavy rainfall; one who loves rain, a rain-lover

* * *

 

His happiest days were spent under the rain. Long before Kaminari and Kaze took residence in his mind, Hanzo Shimada would sneak out of his room when he should be studying to sit atop the temple and soak himself in the rain. During monsoons, he was heavily monitored until the age of 15 when he tamed his dragons for fear of traveling unprotected in the viscious sheets of rain and gusts of wind.

  
Droplets falling on his clothes, seeping onto his skin. Gentle pattering on the crown of his head. The symphonyous song of water hitting wood, gravel, ponds, puddles, metal. His smile would be constant during these times. Peace was only achieved then. Barely 17 and with a bad flue, he managed to pull himself to a window and at least stick his hand out to feel the water landing on his skin. The cursing of the nurse meant nothing, now that the pluviophile within him was satisfied.

  
Taking time to enjoy the rain, to mediate in it, to hear, see, and experience Kaze and Kaminari as they too enjoyed the rain.

 

_We were destined to be._

  
_No other Shimada was worthy._

  
He was never exhausted when they formed during rainy days. Even as they manifested as large as they did during battle, it was effortless with the constant patter of rain on his skin. The cacophony was lyrical, an order borne of chaos.

  
And when the gray began to dissipate, when the last droplets fell and all that was left was the pooling water dripping from leaves and rooftop eaves, there was lingering peace. Even when the clothes stuck to his skin, shoes soaked, hair sticking to the sides of his face and forehead, there was peace.

  
There was always peace with the rain.


End file.
